


The Drunk In The Nighttime

by MizJoely



Series: Sherlolly AU Prompts [30]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>luminescentglow said: 'I met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3 in the morning and when i asked you what the hell you were doing you slurred something about dogs being great and then you threw up on my feet and then fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch so that’s why you’re here right now also what the fuck is your name and why were you patting a dog in a stranger’s backyard in the middle of the night’ au</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drunk In The Nighttime

He opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling and announced, “This isn’t my flat.” Then he winced and closed his eyes again against the stabbing pain lancing through his brain. His mouth was foul, his body ached, and he was lying on someone’s sofa. A lumpy sofa far too short for his lanky form.

“Well good morning, sunshine!” a cheerful (ugh, far too cheerful) female voice called out. “Finally awake, are you? Well rested, or do you think you could use this?”

The voice (young, about his age, not from London originally but he was far too hungover to deduce her origins, and, oh yes, a complete stranger) came closer, and he felt her presence near his fiercely aching head. He cracked open one eye, carefully turning said aching head to the side, and saw a pair of hands with short, garishly painted fingernails - and, more importantly, with a bottle of paracetemol in one and water in the other. “Oh thank God,” he rasped, leaning up on one elbow. He reached out and was handed two pills and the already-opened bottle of water.

His hostess politely waited until he’d gulped down the medication and at least half of the half-liter bottle before saying anything else. “So. I’m Molly Hooper, in case you were wondering, and this is my flat, and that’s my dog sitting on your legs.”

He craned his head around and saw that there was indeed a medium-sized dog of indeterminate breed curled up on his legs; upon seeing Sherlock’s face, the reddish-gold-furred canine stood up, feathered tail wagging madly, and started to move up with the clear intention of licking his former couch-mate’s face.

“Oi, none of that!” the girl - Molly Hooper - said sharply. “Down, boy!” She pointed sternly at the floor and the dog, with a disappointed whine, obediently jumped off of Sherlock’s legs.

He returned his attention to the dog’s owner, flicking his eyes over her and approving of what he saw in spite of his current inability to deduce much about her aside from the fact that she was actually about two years younger than him, living on her own in a house inherited from her deceased parents, and just about to enter medical school. Oh, and of course she was a bit too trusting for her own good.

She blinked and stared at him, and he realized he’d just said all that aloud. “O-okay,” she said slowly, once again blinking those large, brown eyes at him. Her hair was a pleasant shade of cinnamon, pulled back into a simple pony-tail, and hung down nearly to the small of her back. She was wearing a pair of comfortable-looking denim shorts and an oversized rugby shirt, and her toes were just as brightly colored as her fingernails. “So, um, I think I get the too-trusting bit, since I clearly let you stay overnight on my sofa when we don’t even know each other’s names - and what’s yours, by the way?”

“Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes,” he replied, risking losing the newly-acquired contents of his stomach by swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa and assuming a sitting position. His queasiness surged then ebbed as he folded his legs up and hugged them to his chest. “And as for my other deductions…”

“Never mind, Sherlock,” she said, waving away his attempts to explain. “You can tell me about that after you explain why you were in my yard last night, petting Toby when I’d let him out for a wee.” He winced and she giggled, her dog making a soft bark at the sound of his name, his tail thumping enthusiastically against the table leg. Molly leaned down to scratch him between the ears. “I have to say, it was rather entertaining to hear you go on and on about how great dogs were and how lucky I was to have such a good boy in my life.” Her expression turned impish. “And of course, how could I _not_ let you pass out on my sofa after you very sincerely promised that you were a good boy too, and that I could have you if I wanted?”

Sherlock paled and leaned his head back, covering his eyes with a groan. He was definitely going to get Victor for this - the bastard had said he was taking Sherlock back to his parent’s house!

“I threw up on your feet,” he mumbled as the memories starting filtering through the obscuring layers of his hangover. “God, I’m never drinking vodka again. Sod Victor and his asinine ideas about having ‘fun’!” He peeked at Molly through his fingers. “Um, sorry about the terrible pickup line. And the puking. And the...everything else.”

“Nah, it’s all right,” she said with a shrug. She sat down on the edge of her coffee table. “If you’d been in any condition to actually try anything, I might have given it a go, but as it was you could barely stumble inside to the sofa. Oh, and I did try to see if I could get any info about you from your mobile, but I couldn’t figure out your passcode.” She picked up his phone from where it had been sat next to her and handed it to him.

Their fingers brushed as he accepted his mobile, and he was very interested to see a slight blush staining her cheeks. Considering how calm and in control and seemingly unaffected she’d been by this whole mess up until now, it was somewhat of a relief to see that she actually might find him attractive after all. Because he was certainly finding her very attractive. “I go to UCL,” he blurted out. “Chemistry.”

“King’s College. Studying medicine, as you already know - and how did you know?” she asked curiously. “I think I’m ready to hear how you made all those brilliant deductions about me - and got them right - just by looking round my flat when you woke up.”

He grinned, then settled back to explain all the subtle clues that he’d picked up about her. He had a feeling Molly wasn’t going to be one of the ones who called him a freak for his deductive abilities, and so it proved. “That was amazing,” she said frankly.

“Did I get anything wrong?”

She shook her head. “No, actually, you got it all spot on. Is there anything you can’t deduce about my life?”

He tilted his not-throbbing-as-much-as-it-had-been head to one side. “Only two things,” he pronounced after a moment’s serious consideration.

“And that would be…?”

“Why you don’t have a boyfriend, and what mix of breeds Toby is.”

She blushed a bit more, her bottom lip nipped between her teeth as she looked away from him. “Um, university is a huge time-suck and usually the blokes I fancy are either taken or not interested. As for the more important question...I have a proposition for you.”

He raised an eyebrow at her choice of words, and the blush spread down her throat as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Coffee!” she said in a rush. “There’s a great coffee house down the street. You can go splash some water on your face, use the spare toothbrush in the cubby under the sink, and we could go there. We’ll take Toby, he needs to be walked anyway, and if you still can’t figure it out after getting some caffeine into your system, I’ll tell you. Deal?”

“Deal.” He rose cautiously to his feet and threaded his way to the bathroom, grinning like an idiot the entire time. His weekend - and hopefully longer than that - was looking up. Perhaps he wouldn’t read Victor the riot act after all

Humming a bit, he closed the bathroom door behind him.

He couldn’t remember when he’d looked forward to coffee more.

 


End file.
